


Marriage Lines

by amanitamuscaria



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-27
Updated: 2016-10-27
Packaged: 2018-08-27 08:15:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,378
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8393989
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/amanitamuscaria/pseuds/amanitamuscaria
Summary: Headmaster Dumbledore engineers a forced wedding to defeat Voldemort.Written for Cliche Fest 2011.





	

Marriage Lines

 

 

 

"NO! You can't force me to! I am not - I don't want - "

"Severus."

The old man was always able to stop him, control him, when he got so - furious, so angry.

"Severus, someone has to do it."

"But why does it always have to be me?"

" _I_ can hardly marry the boy, and the rest of the teachers – well. You are the closest in age to him. It will be more appropriate."

"Why can't you marry him to the werewolf? At least they like each other."

"There would be no protection in that match, Severus."

"So. After five years of antagonising the boy, you now wish me to marry him, and think it is 'appropriate'."

"Ah, well, times change, and we must change with them, my boy."

The twinkle was almost too much for Severus to bear.

“And what of the Dark Lord?”

“It is past time for your role there to cease. What you have told me – he will move very soon."

"When shall you tell Potter the good news?"

"I thought you two could - "

"NO, Albus! YOU will tell him. I may have promised - You may be able to make me marry the boy, but you can't make me propose to him!"

"Well, then. We will have tea today. In - half an hour, say? Severus, it must be done as soon as possible. The Ministry is sending representatives on Monday."

Severus ground his teeth. When he had promised the old man 'Anything', he'd had no idea.

 

 

 

"WHAT? NO! You can't make me!"

The boy looked as outraged as - well, as Severus had. He smirked at the Headmaster, waiting for Albus's expert machinations. Unfortunately, Potter saw the smirk.

"NO! He's - he'll make my life a misery! More of a misery! I can marry Ginny Weasley! She'd marry me!"

"Harry, Miss Weasley is not of age."

"Then - I'll marry Hermione! Or Fred or George! Fred AND George!"

"Harry, you need to be married to a powerful wizard -"

"- or witch," Severus helpfully supplied.

Albus glared at him, and Severus got a cold shiver down his back. What else had the old man plotted?

"Well, then, what about Professor Lupin? Or .. or anyone? Anyone else?"

"I am sorry, Harry."

The boy looked so woebegone, so desperate, Severus almost felt pity for him.

"We shall perform the ceremony tomorrow. Ten o'clock. Try to get a good nights rest, Harry? Severus?"

Severus startled, realising he'd been dismissed along with Potter.

 

 

 

Minerva hammered on his door an hour later. She swept in, jaw and eyes hard, when he'd opened the door.

"What's this about?"

"If by 'this' you mean the sham of a marriage, I have no idea. You'd best ask Albus. If you find anything out, please be good enough to share it with me?"

"What has he told you?"

"That I'm to wed Potter at 10 tomorrow morning. That the Ministry is sending someone Monday. I'm the lucky groom because Albus needs a powerful wizard to marry the boy to."

"That man!" She stormed out of his rooms.

He poured himself a glass of firewhiskey and sat down to consider. The requirement for a powerful wizard seemed to be the key. And Lucius would love to get his hands on the boy.

 

 

 

Harry showed up on time with Granger and Weasley in tow. None of the three looked as if they'd slept much.

Arthur Weasley and Kingsley Shacklebolt were also present, along with Minerva. The only one in the party who looked at all happy and rested was Albus.

"Ah, Harry. Good, good. We're all here, we have plenty of witnesses - " Harry turned bright red at that, " - so, shall we get started?"

He led them all out, down the stairs, and out of the big front doors. Severus's spirits sank. Minerva threw him an alarmed glance.

"Albus, you're not planning a full -"

"It's the only way, I'm afraid," he said over his shoulder, and continued to march toward the ancient oak grove.

Severus at least had heard of the rite, knew what was taking place, even if he'd never witnessed a traditional bonding. The only people he knew who might have had this ceremony were Lucius and Narcissa. He'd not been invited. Potter was looking completely confused, and when Albus spoke the Ostendo Virgo, Severus understood. Arthur and Minerva did, too, and they both squeaked, "Albus!" in different registers, but with equal shock. Both he and Potter were bathed in a bright silver glow. Potter's was brighter, but not by very much. Dumbledore's blue eyes twinkled. He sighed. The day would not be improving.

Albus's chants were coming to a close, and as he knew he must, Severus took Potter's hand. Potter uttered a small "Meep!", but squared his shoulders and gave him a challenging look. He sighed again. It was better than terrified meekness, but then, he suspected Albus hadn't told the boy everything.

The quiet group walked back to the Headmaster's office. Small sandwiches and smaller glasses appeared, borne by elves. Both he and Potter looked at Granger, who flushed angrily but held her tongue for once.

After a subdued toast, Albus looked at him meaningfully, and he found the boy talking to Arthur by the portrait of Phineas. "..if you need anything, or just if you need to talk."

"He will be coming to me if he needs to talk, Arthur," he said sternly, taking the boy by the arm.

"He's bonded to you, not enslaved, Severus."

He gave Weasley a sour little smile; Potter shook himself free.

"I can talk to Mr. Weasley if I want," he said defiantly.

"We will have that argument later. We must complete the ceremony now."

"What? But - wasn't that it? Out by the standing stones?"

"Merely the first part, Potter."

He grasped the boy's arm again, gritted his teeth against the look Minerva gave him, and pulled the boy over to Albus.

"Well then, my boys. I've warded a room, and you have a week. Just step through the Floo."

He handed Severus the remainder of the bottle of mead they had been drinking, and said softly, "Good luck."

"Good luck," echoed around the room, but the faces were sad, worried, angry.

Severus stepped into the Floo, pulling the boy with him.

 

 

 

The room was in one of the towers, high up, full of late morning light. There was no door, but a large bed sat in the centre on a dais, and a couch was placed to the side of the fire. There was a bookcase on a wall and a bath under one of the windows.

Potter stared around the room and spluttered.

Severus felt the heavy, magic-deadened shields in the room, and surreptitiously tried a wordless “Accio” on a cushion. Nothing, as he'd thought. Watching Potter try to verbalise his dismay, Severus sat down on the couch, poured drink into the two glasses and waited, sipping his.

"But - but - does this mean - you - with me - I can't do this."

"It does. You can, and we will."

"But I can't."

"The Headmaster told you nothing about this?"

"He said we'd have to 'meld our magic', that one person alone couldn't defeat Voldem -"

"Don't say the name!" he hissed.

"Why not?"

"Because he can trace you when you say it, dolt!"

"Oh! Well, if someone had just told me that - no one said; I thought it was just because it frightened people."

He gave the boy a disgusted look. "Enough. Shall we get this over with?"

The boy's eyes widened and he backed away.

"You don't get it. I've never - I don't know how - I've not -"

"That is rather the point. What did you imagine Albus was doing when he cast the Ostendo Virgo charm? When we were glowing silver?"

"Ah, but, but - he can't mean - but then, you too -" Potter gaped at him.

Severus glared.

"You will start off very badly if you so much as smile. We are both caught in this -plan- of Albus's, and I suggest you take it as seriously as he means it. It is not such an easy thing, to find two very powerful wizards, of age, who are virgins. I suggest we discuss what our expected behaviours and roles shall be, then turn to the mechanics of what we will need to do."

Potter gave him a long look, then threw himself down on the couch beside Snape and let out a sigh.

"I sort of expected my first time to be different. Dunno why, as nothing else turns out normal or ordinary for me."

"Poor you."

Severus got up, paced to the bookcase, stared at a couple of the titles, and blushed.

"The bookcase is off-limits to you, Potter."

Naturally, the boy had to bound up to peer at the books.

Severus took him by the shoulders, swiftly unbuttoning his shirt, pressing his teeth against the tanned column of neck revealed. His hands were diving for the waistband when -

"NO!"

Severus found himself slumped against the far wall.

"Potter!"

"No! I'm not doing that!"

He picked himself up, shook his hand, which felt like he'd thrust it into nettles.

Pouring another glass of the mead - the level in the bottle never seemed to go down,

thankfully - he sat on the couch. Put his feet up. Emptied the glass in a swift motion,

poured another, then set the bottle down beside him.

"What are you doing?"

"Getting drunk."

The boy approached the couch. He looked defeated, but with his shirt undone, and a

bruise blossoming on his neck, he also looked so dissolute, debauched, that Severus felt

himself stirring.

"Go away," he snapped.

He downed another glass of mead, then opened his eyes to see the boy was still there.

"What do you want?"

"May I have some?"

"Oh, yes, why not? I'm sure you will feel much more like consummating this - " he

spat, waving between them, "when you're drunk. And I should enjoy that immensely."

"Why are you getting drunk, then?"

"Because - because ... "

He slumped back.

"Because there is nothing else I can do until Albus releases us from this prison. You shall face the Dark Lord, he will triumph, and the rest of us will all settle down to a period of darkness. You won't, you'll be dead," he added.

"You jumped me! I can't just -"

"Then you are unlike every other 16-year-old," Snape sneered.

Potter dropped his gaze to the floor.

"I guess so."

"Can't bear to be touched by your nasty Professor."

"No, I don't think that's it."

He turned to look at the boy, eyes narrowing.

"No? Is it men in general you have a problem with?"

"I don't think so - I mean, I hadn't ever thought about it before."

He stared at the boy.

Potter stared back a moment, then dropped his eyes, went and got his glass.

He shifted his legs off the couch, and Potter sat down. He poured in a measure, topped his own glass up, and sat back.

"Alright, then. Let's start from the beginning. What, precisely, have you done, and with whom?"

The boy blushed scarlet, but kept his head up. He saw the jaw clench, then Potter said, "I kissed Cho last year. You saw that. And Ginny - I kissed Ginny this year. Maybe nine times. And - and I touched her. On the breast."

He indicated his own hairless chest, to ensure Severus would know where he meant.

Severus let out a long breath.

"You have touched yourself? Pleasured yourself?"

The boy's eyes looked desperate, fractured.

He shook his head.

Severus closed his eyes, regrouped his thoughts, and proffered the bottle again. Potter deserved a drink for that admission alone.

"I - Aunt Petunia burned my palms when she caught me once. I never did again."

He seized the boy's hands - there were faint scars in the middle of the palms, sure enough.

"Five days. We have five days. Alright. You do get erections?"

The boy nodded.

"You have - ah - nightly emissions?"

Another nod.

"That's something, at least. Now, there is absolutely nothing wrong with touching yourself."

He was going to kill Albus when he got out.

He fed the boy mead until he was squirming on the seat.

"You need to use the toilet, don't you?"

"Yes - will you turn - "

"No. I need to relieve myself as well. We will both go."

The flush rose on Potter's cheeks, but again, the jaw set, he swallowed, and nodded.

"What do you do about showers? After Quidditch?"

"I wait," the boy gritted out, lurching a bit.

He grasped the boy's arm, and they reached the loo.

Leaning against the wall, he extracted himself and released the stream.

Potter stared for a moment, eyes wide, then copied him.

He was rather relieved that Potter, though smaller than him, wasn't too much smaller.

Potter watched, curiously attentive, as he shook himself before tucking away.

"Uh, why do you do that?"

"What? Ah, shake myself? To get rid of the last drops. What have you been doing?"

The boy blushed again, tearing off a single sheet of toilet paper.

He stared down at himself, then tried shaking.

Then, he solemnly used the toilet paper.

Severus led him back to the couch.

“Shall we start with a baseline? Raise the bookcase.”

“What? What for?”

“So any increase in your power might be measured.”

“Um. Ok.”

The bookcase didn't move.

“What have you done?”

“I have done nothing. Try a book, then.”

Nothing. He filled the boy's glass again absently, and considered.

 

 

 

"Oh, for - get in the bed. Nothing is going to happen. Certainly not after all that mead."

He grumpily turned to his side, hauling the sheet and blankets over his bony shoulder.

A little while later, he felt the bed dip, and a slight tug at the blanket.

He didn't care, he told himself. The poor waif. That he was saddled with, thanks to Albus and his plotting.

When he was sure the boy was asleep, he quietly tried the very first charm he remembered doing, a whispered 'Lumos'. Nothing happened.

 

 

 

He awoke with a noseful of feathery hair, an armful of boy, and slid out of the bed. No point in traumatising the boy further.

It didn't take many strokes to relieve his morning erection, but he glanced up to catch the green eyes following the movement of his hand. Coming while he stared at the boy staring at him was curiously satisfying. He turned and washed his hands, partly to allow them both a moment to recover. When he turned back, Potter was still looking at him.

"Am I to assume you have nothing to take care of?"

The boy blinked and blanched, and Severus moved swiftly back to the bed.

He touched the hard length lightly through the covers, and it sprang against his hand, Potter inhaling sharply.

"Just relax. It will take even less time for you."

And, indeed, the boy was gasping and coming in three strokes.

He lay back, enjoying the early morning sunlight and an easing of the tension which had been present in the room with them, when suddenly, the boy reared up on an elbow and kissed him.

Kissed him!

He looked skeptically out of the corner of his eye at Potter, who looked back bashfully.

He raised an eyebrow, and Potter ducked his head.

"You're being nice to me," he said by way of explanation.

Severus considered.

Well, if a hand job was all it took to relax the boy, he could provide that with little trouble.

They rose, to find breakfast laid on the side table.

 

Severus checked the bookcase again, just in case Albus had relented, or perhaps forgotten to remove some more appropriate volumes, but no.

"Um, was it anything in particular you were looking for?"

"Something that isn't a sex manual."

"Maybe you could be more specific?"

"The current Potions Monthly would do."

"Er, Dobby?"

One of the elves who had been serving after the bonding appeared.

"Harry Potter, Sir? Is you wishing to have elevenses, or lunch?"

"Hi, Dobby. No, just the current Potions Monthly, please."

" "Professor Dumbledore is forbidding all Professor Snape's reading material. I is not allowed - "

"Ah, but _I_ want to read it. That's ok, isn't it?"

The elf winked out and returned a moment later with the journal.

"Thanks, Dobby! I guess we could have lunch, too. I fancy shepherds pie." Potter looked over at Severus.

"A salad. No onions. And some water. Thank you."

He narrowed his eyes at Potter.

"A personal house-elf? How did you get that one past the Headmaster? To say nothing of Miss Granger?"

"Oh, he's not mine! He's a free elf. He used to belong to the Malfoys. He sort of likes me."

"A useful ally."

He raised his eyebrows, and Potter, having looked at the front cover - "Flobberworm preparation revisited - ech!" - handed him the journal.

After lunch, he settled down on the couch for a good read. Potter sprawled on the bed, and he noticed after a minute he was being scrutinised.

"No Quidditch magazine to keep you occupied?"

"'S not as much fun to read about than to do."

He went to the bookcase and found the most drily instructive book on the shelves, one without too many distracting pictures.

"Here - you may as well read up on what is expected of us."

"Have you read all of them, then?"

He grimaced, "I am well versed in the theory."

"Why haven't you - um, I mean, how come - " the boy trailed off in embarrassment.

"If you are asking why I have not put theory into practice -"

"Yeah."

"A boarding school in the wilds of Scotland does not offer many opportunities. My physiognomy does not attract many opportunities either, nor have I wished to avail myself of the offers I have had."

"Um. So - I guess we're in a similar situation?"

"And how do you come to that conclusion?"

"Well, the whole Boy-Who-Lived thing doesn't help -"

"I would have thought you could take your pick of whomever you wanted."

"But it wouldn't be me they wanted. And then, I'm short and skinny, with glasses ..."

"You won't gain anything by fishing for compliments from me. But you are not repulsive -"

He stopped the boy's smile with, " - to those who like that kind of thing."

He studied the boy. "Surely, you are not concerned by what I might think?"

"Well, we are married."

He nodded.

"And, whether either of us comes out of this alive -"

He raised an eyebrow; the boy seemed to have a better grasp of the situation than he'd credited, perhaps.

" - we still need to 'join our powers' or whatever the Headmaster intended by marooning us in here."

"Hm. Well, are you going to further your education to that end by reading your book, or are you going to continue to stare at me?"

The boy looked down at his book, but Severus could have sworn he heard something like, 'I think I like to look at you'. He dismissed it as a hallucination.

He woke to feel thistledown hair beneath his hand. He'd dropped the journal, and Potter had propped his back against the couch so his head was next to Severus's hand. He was also reading - actually, looking at was a more precise description - one of the books and it was not the book Severus had handed him.

The two men in the picture were enthusiastically demonstrating how to prepare for intercourse.

"So, you feel ready for advanced lessons?"

The boy blushed, but gamely met his eyes.

"We've got four days left. I guess we'd better get on with it, in case something goes wrong."

"Hm." He idly carded the fine hair, wondering how long the boy's pragmatism would hold.

“I have, “ he said hesitantly, “An aphrodisiac, if you need it.”

“Um. I think I might be alright, as long as you don't do anything suddenly, like yesterday.”

He pulled Potter up, sitting him between his legs, leaning him back against his chest.

Long strokes up his arms whilst unbuttoning his shirt, then the smooth chest, hairless except for a few wispy strands around the dark nipples was his to explore. He rubbed the little nubs, strummed them with his fingers until they peaked. The boy moved back more firmly against him.

"Mm. S'nice," the boy muttered, relaxing a little.

He nosed into the fine hair, finding an ear, biting as he cupped the lengthening erection through the jeans - Potter shivered, arched against his hand. He stroked over the rough material until the boy moaned, pulling his hand away, turning to face him, laying along him to work on unbuttoning his jacket, waistcoat, shirt - "That is not necessary, Potter," he muttered, batting at the hands.

"Yes, it is. I want to see you."

"Why?"

The boy reared back to study him. "Why not? You're making me feel good, I want to do the same to you."

"It's not necessary," he repeated, puzzled, but Potter continued until he could run the palms of his hands up Severus's chest. He stroked the scars and crucio-traces curiously, then fingered the nipples, tightening in their nests of black hair.

"Is it alright?" he looked up from his study of Severus's chest.

"Yes. The stimulation of any of the secondary erogenous zones is usually pleasant."

"Can you do that – talk to me I mean, while we're doing this?”

“I expect so. Why?”

“It just feels less scary, less intimidating when you're talking.”

“It is not more frightening to be reminded of who you are doing these things with?”

Potter considered him for a long moment.

“No. It's reassuring, more than anything. You don't lie to me, you tell me things straight,” He ducked his head and muttered, “you always have, even if I didn't want to hear them.”

“I suppose that is as sound a basis for a marriage as any.”

“Is it going to hurt?”

“The marriage may be painful, indeed. Intercourse, however, though it may be uncomfortable initially, shouldn't hurt.”

The boy huffed a laugh, “Right. You know, I never got how funny you are.”

Severus raised his eyebrows.

“Well, like that comment, just now. I mean - “

The green eyes looked at him, really looked at him, with no scorn or anger, and he felt a faint hope that they might have a chance at completing the task Albus had set them.

“You wish to defeat the Dark Lord?”

“Yes. He's destroyed enough of my life and the people I love. I can't think of anything else I want as much.”

“Then we will proceed with the Headmaster's plan.”

Holding the boy's eyes with his, he slowly moved his hands down to unbuckle, unbutton, unzip the jeans.

Swallowing hard, Potter mirrored his actions, but had to look down, concentrate, to deal with the row of tiny buttons that his trousers had instead of a zip.

He snorted, “You don't make this easy on a bloke, do you?”

“No. It has never been my intention to do so.”

“Oh, bugger! I never thought – sorry. I'm sorry. Did you never – was there no one you ever wanted – I know you don't want to do this with me. I'm sorry,” he let his hands fall to his sides, and sat back.

“Notwithstanding my wishes, or my – disinclination to bed a boy, particularly one I am teaching, we are forced by circumstance and fate into this. We shall continue.”

“You -” The green eyes widened with understanding, “You want him gone as much as I do, don't you.”

“I have no wish to see a world in which the Dark Forces are triumphant.”

“But – but how do you – how can you – you've - oh, wow.”

“Oh, wow?”

“I'll shut up now.” The boy reached a hand up, ran it down Severus's chest in a long, slow caress, and continued the unbuttoning.

He slid the jeans over the narrow hips, letting the firm cock spring free, pulling the boy forward to taste the end while sliding his own trousers down.

Potter tasted of youth, innocence, light, and tried to push Severus's head back frantically.

“No?”

“Ah – gonna come -” he groaned out.

“Yes.”

And Severus took the silken hardness into his mouth again and the boy came.

Holding him against his chest, Severus let his fingers trail along the back, down to the cleft between the arse-cheeks, trailed his fingers again and again until they slid between the divide and stroked over the tight-furled opening.

“Here. Here is where I shall enter you.”

He rubbed over the entrance, then taking the oil from the nightstand, poured it over his fingers. Potter's eyes widened, but not in fear. Rubbing again over the pucker, he slid the tip of a finger in, circled slightly.

Still boneless from his orgasm, Potter squirmed a little, but was too relaxed for his muscles to put up much resistance. One finger was easy. Two took a bit more effort.

“Push back against it. Try to push them out.”

“Mph. Feels strange.”

“No doubt. You will be very tight the first few times. Until you get used to it.”

“First few – hold on, more than once?” Potter tried to sit up.

He returned to the stroking that seemed to calm the boy like a cat.

“You are bound to me. No divorce, no straying, nothing, until one or both of us die. I doubt you will wish to remain celibate.”

Potter searched his face, the full understanding sinking in, but said, “And you? You're bound to me, too.”

“Yes. I am more used to it, and have seen the disaster uncontrolled lust wreaks on one.”

“But it's not what you chose.”

They both sighed, then, “Two fingers – I'll need more than that, I reckon,” Potter said, and leaned forward to kiss him again.

“I just wondered what I tasted like,” he muttered.

Severus stared at him for a long moment, then brought his fingers back to their task, working more oil into the clenching ring of muscle, trickling it between the firm arse cheeks.

He would have turned the boy on his knees then, but Potter said, “I want to look at you, while we do it.”

“It isn't the easiest position for a first time, but as you wish.”

He hooked one of the thin legs over his arm, held himself at the boy's entrance, and found himself staring into the green eyes.

Shutting his eyes, and offering a quick “Forgive me,” to Lily, he pushed forwards slowly, breaching the loosened muscle.

So close to another – making short, smooth thrusts, each one a little deeper, letting the boy get used to his intrusion, he felt the sparking across his skin, looked into the green eyes, saw the arcing and skittering of connections between them, and Potter kissed him again, a long, slow movement of lips against lips, then tongue against tongue, and the sparks livened and danced as he found himself fully buried and started a long, slow slide that ended with Potter jerking, suddenly tense, his hand slid to the boy's cock, hard again, and in two quick thrusts, he was there, another squeeze of his hand, and the boy was, too.

They fell together, a tangle of arms and legs, he still sheathed, while the sparks danced like dust motes in the afternoon sunlight and the air around them seemed to shiver.

 

 

 

He woke with a noseful of thistledown hair, an armful of boy, a sweet lassitude filling him. Potter was snuffling quietly, and he tried a wandless “Accio” which brought his journal to him.

He slid out of bed, in case Potter should decide that once was, after all, quite enough. Sitting, reading, he became aware of being watched, but when he looked up, the boy was getting up, getting dressed. He looked away quickly as Potter turned, so as not to be obviously staring at the body which had been wrapped around him, that he had been welcomed into last night.

A cup of tea appeared at his elbow, he looked up, startled, and the boy turned a little pink.

“Milk, no sugar,” he explained.

“Thank you,” Severus said. Perhaps it hadn't been completely traumatic, then.

 

 

 

“A mild local anaesthetic,” he explained, as the boy turned the little bottle he'd put by his plate in his hands.

“You may find some soreness – just rub a little on, ah, locally - “

The green eyes flashed up to meet his briefly, the cheeks pink again, before dropping.

“Oh. Thanks. I thought it might be – Yes. Thanks.”

“You thought it might be ...?”

“The aphrodisiac,” the boy muttered, blushing harder.

“Why would I give you that?”

“Oh – yeah, that's alright; I'd better put some of this on -” the boy babbled.

Severus thought about it while the boy went off. The awkwardness was suffocating in the room.

“Harry.” Yes, that was the right approach, the boy's eyes looked hopeful, and he came willingly to the sofa.

“Harry, what is the matter?”

He turned the bottle over in his hands, staring at it, then said, “I thought – you'd gotten up this morning, and didn't say anything, so I thought I must have been awful at it, and you were being kind again, and I can learn, really I can, and I want to, truly, to defeat Vol- him.” came out in a single breath.

Severus, firmly suppressing his own uncertainties, pulled the boy to him.

“I am unused to this. You were not awful. I – we will both learn.”

He ran his hands along the boy's, Harry's, arms, his sides.

“I liked it,” the boy muttered into his neck, “I liked you.”

Severus suddenly understood, and unbuttoned his boy's shirt. Sliding his hands in, over the warm chest, he marveled at the gift given him, at the uncomplicated statement the boy had made, at the fact that he knew he didn't have to question it and look for hidden meanings.

“Just touching, this morning,” he murmured. “You will be too sore for anything more.”

“Do you need any of this?” the boy – his boy – queried.

“Why would I -“ but then the thought struck him. Perhaps – he flinched back from it, but perhaps it would be necessary. “No. I'm fine. Do you wish me to put some more on you? Or – the Lubricant,” he specified, and the amber bottle flew to him, “Would you like to use this?”

They spent a contented and productive morning on the settee, the potions journal discarded on the side table.

Severus had forgotten quite how eager sixteen-year-olds could be, or perhaps it was just that Harry had some catching up to do.

He brought his hand up to sniff delicately at the emission, to taste it. It still was redolent with freedom, youth, light.

“Is it – ok?”

“Mmm.” He proffered the hand to his boy, who wrinkled his nose a bit.

“It takes a little getting used to.”

“Have you? Been used to it, I mean.”

He looked into the green eyes, flinching back from the question, but there was no rejection, no mocking there, just curiosity and interest.

“Yes. It is one of the things boys do.”

“Would you like me to?”

His eyes widened at the innocent offer - “Yes. Very much. But not right now. And only if you wish to do so.”

Harry's eyes narrowed a little. “You didn't always want to. Did you?”

He ducked his head, letting the curtains of black hair shield him from the vivid green gaze.

His boy gently stroked the side of his face, without pushing the hair back.

“Was it – who was it?” he asked softly.

“Other Slytherin boys, mostly.”

“Mostly? Any, ah, Gryffindors?”

This was where the boy would laugh, stand up, leave him on the couch and go forth to produce the victory Albus and all the other Order of the Phoenix members, all the clean, untarnished members of society wanted, and he would slink back to the dungeons.

“Black.”

The hand hesitated a fraction, then continued to stroke his face.

“Did you not hear me? I said, your godfather.” He looked challengingly at the boy, daring him to mock.

“I heard you. I – don't know what to say. He – I – I'm sorry.”

“You can't apologise for him.”

“No. I mean, I'm sorry they hurt you. I'm sorry I can't – it wasn't my father?”

“No.”

Harry let out a long breath, looking like neither his father or his mother for once.

“At least that.”

He concentrated on stroking Severus's chest, running his fingers through the patches of hair while he thought.

“Can we, maybe, take a bath together? I'm feeling sticky, and it looks big enough for two.”

“First, try to lift a book.”

 

 

Later that night, after supper, he unbuttoned Severus's trousers slowly, staring at the long shaft exposed.

“Will you tell me what to do?”

Severus groaned, and Accio'd the silver butter knife from the table, fashioning it into a ring.

“Slide that over me, down to the root.”

Harry carefully slid the silver ring down, the brushes of his hand, his concentration on his task before him making Severus groan again.

“Right down. There.”

He buried the ring in the black wiry hair at the base of his erection, an occasional flash of silver betraying its presence.

“Why? What does it do?” his boy asked, fascinated, exploring with hesitant touches.

“It stops me coming so very soon, as I should do with you touching me.”

“Should I have one, too? I seem to come as soon as you touch me.”

“You are sixteen. You are erect again very quickly. I would not be able to.”

“Hm.”

He cautiously put out a pink tongue and licked the head of Severus's cock.

Without the ring, he would have exploded over the boy's face right then.

Severus bore the explorations stoically, until he realised his boy was trying to get a response. Then his murmured encouragements gave way to small sounds and finally a keening whine he didn't know could come from him.

“Ah – which bottle shall I use?”

“The amber. On my fingers.”

He prepared him rapidly, both their eyes dilated, their breath rapid. Harry leaned forward, his hands on Severus's chest, and kissed him, a long slow side of lips and tongue, as he settled down on the rigid shaft.

Harry's own cock was pressed firmly against his belly, had been for some time. Severus pulled the foreskin back over the head with his slicked fingers and the boy was coming. He released the ring and came to the clenching of his boy around him. He came to some time later to find Harry still atop him; he turned them so they both were on their sides, but the boy's arms didn't release, and he fell asleep with his boy's head still pressed firmly against his chest.

 

 

 

Harry was able to lift the bookcase now, but – Severus suspected there was more. The last night they stayed in the tower, Harry turned hesitant and quiet again.

“What's the matter?”

“Nothing. I was wondering ...”

“Yes?”

“If I don't survive -”

“Don't think that way. It's likely to happen if you do.”

“But – if I don't, or if you don't - “

He held his boy, who was, after all, too young, still, to be facing this.

“I'd like – if you don't mind – if I could -”

“We can't do it if you can't say it.”

“I'd like – to be in you.”

They stared at each other, the boy wide-eyed at his daring and certainty, Severus aware of his fear and sureness that it was necessary.

He wordlessly stood, held out his hand to Harry. Whatever happened, whether neither or both survived, if the world crumbled around them, this step was essential.

He gave his boy the amber vial, and lay down on the bed where they'd discovered each other. Harry touched him with reverence, stroking, following each deliberate hand movement with his eyes, with full concentration. The little sparks started their dance, Severus's hands joined in the dance, and the feeling built. He hardly knew when Harry rocked into him slowly, and he chased a wayward light with his lips as it splintered across Harry's chest, getting a mild shock when he caught it. Harry, his face red and creased in concentration, thrust at an angle, and suddenly, he was just as long as he needed to be, as Severus pulled him sharply back in to hit the same spot, and he was coming, or Harry was, they both were, and the sparks were having a carnival.

 

 

They came out of the floo to busy preparations in Albus's office. The Headmaster saw them after a moment, twinkled and said, “You were successful, I see.”

Severus frowned at him, then realised he still had his hand on Harry's shoulder, and Harry was pressed against his side.

“What is happening?”

“That Lucius didn't find Harry here to wed seems to have precipitated Tom's plans. He has taken the Ministry, Severus. We are under a state of siege here.”

“And the Dark Lord's – instruments?”

“The last one. Bar the snake,” Albus said, gesturing towards the table, on which lay a splendid silver breastplate, with inlaid gold and chasing.

“Have you -” Severus started towards it, but Albus put out a hand to stop him.

“I have plans for that.”

“Your hand -” Harry gasped, and the Headmaster drew his sleeve over the blackened, twisted thing.

“It does not matter.”

Severus would have examined it, but Albus stopped him.

“There is no time. It does not matter now. I need to speak with you about the snake, Severus, and about Tom with you, Harry. We are nearly at the end of it. I will take care of this,” he gestured at the table's contents.

He held his boy close all that night, waiting for the dawn.

 

 

 

The Headmaster took the breastplate and strapped it on, then lowered his cloak over it.

He smiled sadly at Severus, clasping his hand.

“Look after Harry. I have no more time, and this will, as they say, kill two birds with one stone.”

 

 

 

Voldemort released the Avada Kedavra, and the old man was wreathed in green light, but still stood.

“More trickery from you? Avada Kedavra!” he shouted again, and now, his opponent fell.

 

 

 

The Dark Lord's eyes narrowed as he looked at Severus, standing on the steps of Hogwarts, looking down at where Albus lay.

“You have betrayed me. And all for nothing. Your master lies before you, dead by my hand, as you must have known would happen. He was old and had no strength left. You are young, but much more foolish than I thought. It is a pity, as I would have liked your former companions to welcome you back, but no matter. They will have other toys and playthings before the day is out. Your betrothed, for one.”

He cast several Crucios in rapid succession, then gestured the snake forward as Severus lay contorted on the ground.

“Strike, Nagini. Eat your fill, though that flesh is bitter with betrayal.”

The snake twisted and writhed around his former Death Eater, jaw unhinging to envelop the dark form, but stopped partway to ingesting him.

“Too full? Or is the traitor not to your taste?”

The writhing of the snake seemed to take on a more frantic edge, but -

“Tom! Tom Riddle!”

He turned to see who used the name he'd left behind.

Potter stalked across what was left of the lawn in front of the castle, now furrowed and smouldering, with huddled shapes scattered across the churned grass. He looked at the doors to Hogwarts, where the two men who'd guided him lay, and his jaw tightened. He seemed to shine in the half-light, shine like a unicorn in the dark, sharp and clean through the greasy smoke and sickly spell-fire remnants.

“Harry Potter. You have come to face me at last. You sent your two champions, and they have been bested by me, without striking a single blow to aid you. And the last thing you shall see will be me.”

The Dark Lord's slit eyes narrowed further at the unnatural appearance of the boy, but he was too caught in the nearness of victory, in the closeness of the castle, the numbers of his followers still waiting at his heels to analyse or worry.

He struck -

and the moment drew out like strings of lights along a seafront -

Harry breathed in, the lights and the noise confusing him -

he considered the tall figure standing opposite him -

he grieved for the Headmaster -

he wept for the tall figure in Nagini's stiff coils on the steps -

“Sssseverussss” he thought, and absorbed the green spell-light, allowed it to spark and run along his limbs, allowed it to double and double again, then mirrored it back till it enveloped the originator of the spell and it and Voldemort were gone.

He fell then, and had no knowledge of the battle turning as the Death Eaters suddenly clutched at their arms in agony, of Severus finding him.

They carried him to the Hospital Wing, laid him in a bed, and Madam Pomfrey shook her head after she cast spells of diagnosis.

“There's nothing I can do, Severus. He's in a coma, I cannot reach him; I cannot bring him out.”

Severus sat, holding his boy's hand, while Granger and Weasley, all the boy's classmates who remained, and, it seemed, like most of the castle paraded by the boy's bed.

 

 

 

That evening, with no sign of consciousness yet from the boy, Severus lay down beside him on the narrow hospital bed, taking him in his arms, and concentrated.

He breathed in, his lips parted, and sought for the trace of his boy's taste, of his distinctive smell and taste in his mind. He followed the tenuous thread, weaving and dodging, cursing the boy, Albus, his old master.

When he knew he was close, he stopped. Waited. The boy was curled up, tightly holding himself. His heart missed a beat, then he saw the slight quiver of the boy's back.

Sitting down beside him, not yet daring to touch him, he muttered, "Potter. Come on. Time to go home."

"Then, we're both dead? Together?" The green eyes were full of relief.

"Sadly, no. We are both alive."

His discorporeal arms were full of discorporeal boy, and he did not want to think about that.

"Come along. You are currently taking up a hospital bed that could be put to better use."

A big grin split the tired face, and he and Potter were back in the hospital wing.

 

 

 

The next few days were chaotic, the Ministry was in disarray, as was the school; owls flew, the floo was red-hot, and Headmistress McGonagall turned the air blue with Scots phrases that no one was quite sure the translation of, but the meaning of them was clear. An interim government was set up with ex-ministers brought out of retirement, as so many current officials were under arrest. Harry stayed in the dungeons, for safety and the quiet, he said.

 

 

 

Arthur appeared in the Floo, looking worried and disheveled.

"Severus. Get yourself and Harry out of there. The Ministry are sending a full department of Aurors to take you both."

Severus cursed, turned to find Harry at his shoulder, looking confused.

"But - we killed Voldemort for them. Why would they -?"

"They're terrified of you. Of us. People are generally frightened of what they don't understand and can't control. What do you need to take with you?"

"My cloak. My broomstick."

"Get them," he said, picking up the shoulder bag he'd had prepared for this.

Harry came back in, still looking uncertain.

"We could tell them - "

"No. No Gryffindor heroics. Slytherin survival, now."

He pulled the boy to him, and moved through the Floo wordlessly. Moved a second time, then a third. Tightening his grip on the boy, he disapparated.

 

 

 

The warm hillside buzzed with the churring of cicadas, a soft breeze stirred the scent of crushed thyme where they had landed.

Harry sat up, looking down the slope to the tiny whitewashed cottage, the rocky cove further below. He turned to Severus.

"This is nice. Is this Slytherin survival? It feels more like a holiday."

"Someone has to plan ahead," Severus smirked.

He took the boy's hand and they walked down to the cottage together.

 

 

THE END


End file.
